them in a seaport warehouse, next to the docks.
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The warehouse was fenced, along with the docks, and he'd need a good reason to get in. It didn't matter, though. American steamers of the Pennington Line used those docks. Wherever they were going, the boxes were going. They were leaving the country and—
It hit him in the face like a hard slap. Why leaving the country? That would be the natural assumption. That would be the end of the trail. For himself, or for any Higgenson driver, or anyone who got to wondering. The stuff was leaving the country, and that was the end of it. Must be all right, then.
He watched for a week to be sure. Goods were taken from other warehouses and loaded onto ships. This one warehouse had things go in, nothing ever came out. It was not only the one truck a day from Tiger that was delivering. There were a dozen trucks a day. Of course, a truck didn't hold much in comparison to a large warehouse. Still, with everything going in and nothing coming out—
He watched for three weeks. Nothing ever did come out.
Tredel didn't see any choice, then. It was over the fence at two in the
